


Feather Dusting

by Lizardbeth



Series: Nellis 'Verse [6]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Earth, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Community: bsg_pornbattle, F/M, Nellis-verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:36:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbeth/pseuds/Lizardbeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kara wants to cheer him up when he gets some bad news...  (Nellis-verse)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feather Dusting

  
Kara knew something was wrong when she walked through the door and found Sam already there, still in his BDUs as if he'd not bothered to change after coming home. Considering she knew this wasn't a flying day for him or his squad it couldn't be that bad, but staring at Judge Judy on mute with a beer in hand wasn't good either.

"I'm home."

Dispiritedly, his gaze rose up to her. "Hey, you."

"You look like your dog died." She put a leg over his knees and sat on his lap, resting her hands on his stomach. "What's wrong?"

"Didn't you hear?" he asked. "The budget passed today. They've cancelled the Raptor program, including all the ones under construction." He sighed and picked at the label on his bottle. "That means it's only a matter of time before they mothball my plane."

Kara bit her lip on the words that it was probably a good thing. The F-22s were beautiful craft, but sensitive and fragile. Sam had already nearly gotten killed, and one of his squad had died. But Sam loved that plane and was fiercely defensive of it. "Did the general say how long?"

"Nobody knows yet. If we never deploy it'll be sooner." He sighed and swallowed his beer. "God, who would've thought getting myself attached the hottest, most awesome plane in the entire Air Force would've meant such a dead end?"

She couldn't resist a soft laugh as she plucked the beer away. "It is not a dead end. You're the hottest squadron commander of the most awesome plane ever. You know you're first in line for the new strike fighter if you want it. So stop throwing such a pity-party and give me a proper welcome home."

She leaned forward and kissed him. He kissed back, but with his attention elsewhere, and pulled away. "I'm not really in the mood, sorry."

She regarded him, thinking about the quickest way to get him IN the mood. Then she stood up, with an idea. She'd been saving this for the weekend, but maybe she should pull it out today. "I'm going to change. I'll be right back."

In the bedroom, she ripped open the package she'd hidden in the closet and changed into the new outfit. Then looking into the mirror she had to grin. It was cheesy, like a cheap Halloween costume, but the bustier was still good for lifting her breasts into close to spilling out, and the short black skirt hid her barely-there thong. Then, she grabbed the one thing that was going to make this work and headed back into the living room.

Adopting a terrible French accent, she asked, "Monsieur would like dusting now?"

He turned his head, and she was glad to see him smile when he realized what she was wearing. Then the smile faded, as his gaze fell to her cleavage and down her bare thighs, and he licked his lips as if wondering what she had on under the ridiculously puffy skirt. She pulled her secret weapon out from behind her back and held up the feather duster. Dropping the accent, she said, "Look what I found."

His lips twitched and he chuckled. "You know I was just kidding, right?"

"You think you're kidding, but I don't. You keep bringing it up, like the idea secretly fascinates you." She padded closer and dusted the back of his hand. They both noticed how he flinched and pulled his hand away. She smiled with eager satisfaction. "Take off your shirt, and we'll see who's right." He opened his mouth to complain or refuse, and she pointed the feather duster at him. "If I'm going to dress in this stupid outfit for you, you can damn well get yourself in the right mood. Right now."

"I was just going to say that you look--" he started and he pulled her between his knees with a hand on her waist.

"Like I'm from a porno?" she joked.

"There are worse things to look like," he murmured and his other hand slid from her knee up the inside of her thigh. Leaning forward, he sucked at the soft tops of her breasts straining at the top of the bustier, tonguing her cleavage, while his fingers found her panties and brushed at the satin until she trembled.

Then collecting herself when she realized the duster was about to fall from her hand, she rapped his arm with the handle and stepped away from his hand. "Stand up. You're supposed to be taking advantage of the hired help, and you can't do that fully dressed."

He stood up and gave her a lazy smile which suggested he was finally getting into it. "I think the hired help should help me."

He said it as if expecting argument -- she smiled sweetly back at him. "Of course." She lifted his shirt a few inches and dusted. He squirmed, more tickled than intrigued. Then she lifted the shirt higher and pressed a little harder, using it more as a big paintbrush across his stomach and on his bare arms. He stopped squirming, and he watched what she was doing, with a bit of a frown. Then, he stripped off his t-shirt and dropped it on the chair, and with more 'canvas' she brushed all the skin he was showing, from sensitive flanks to nipples. When his stance shifted a little wider, she looked into his face, pleased to see the darkening eyes and mouth slightly parted. "This doesn't look like 'just joking' to me," she taunted.

He pulled her roughly against him to kiss her mouth, his unshaven upper lip brushing her lips until they burned and the only relief was in his tongue. His hands slid up her thighs to her hips and then behind to feel for the zipper on her costume. She tore away from his mouth, panting. "No. Not yet. Hold this." And she shoved the handle of the duster into his hand, while opened his pants. "I'm not done."

"Kara, really, I think we've established --" he started, words choking in his mouth when her hand pressed into his shorts, firmly against his swelling cock. Then he started again, more hoarsely, "We don't have to -- " This time she shut him up with a squeeze and a finger tracing his shape. He fell quiet as she finished getting him naked. He was barely holding the duster anymore, when she grabbed it back.

"Stay still," she warned him and bent down to start at his feet. Then, alternating legs, she dragged the feathers up his calves and shins up to his knees, then thighs, until the muscles there were twitching. Then, teasing, she skipped over his half-hard cock and traced his hipbones one by one and the hair between.

"Kara..." he said, more lowly, and not as objection, more as a plea for more.

She moved to the side to brush down his spine and each buttock until his hips were giving small jerks and his erection was visibly swelling. Then in front of his face, she held up the duster and pulled a single feather from it. His mouth was open and little pants emerged. "I think I should dust more carefully, don't you?" she asked, smirking. He couldn't answer, standing as still as he could under her onslaught of the feather on his neck, scraping the edge against a nipple, tracing the center line between his abs, and down to slowly bring the tip from base to head of his thickening cock.

He held very tense, hands clenched into fists at his sides, and chest heaving for uneven breaths. "You... are such a fucking tease," he complained.

"I know," she replied and grinned unrepentant, as she twirled the feather against his balls and the long underside of his cock.

He behaved better than she expected, but it didn't last. Some inner restraint broke and he moved, grabbing her ass and grinding against her, kissing at her neck feverishly. She pushed him into the chair, intending to ride him, but once they were down, he grabbed her hips and slid off, so he was on his knees and her back hit the carpet.

He ran into her panties, and impatiently pulled them aside with one hand, so he could spread her vagina with his fingers before driving his cock in. Then, hands on her ass, he kept her lifted up to meet his needy thrusts. The unrestrained intensity woke something in her as well, burning where he touched and building the pressure.

It didn't take him long, and then he was slumping down, to kiss her chest and hollow of her throat. "Next time," he said said breathlessly, as his fingers plunged past sodden panties, "you get the feather."

"Promises, promises," she taunted and arched at the touch on her swollen clit, eager for him to bring her off. But she didn't let go of the feather, smug with how well it had worked.

Next time, she'd have to restrain him in some way and see exactly how crazy she could make him.


End file.
